Project: Album Phasma
by AnneriaWings
Summary: Purpose of PROJECT: ALBUM PHASMA -‘White Ghost’-: permanent incarceration and research of adolescent ghost-human hybrid Daniel James Fenton; ongoing investigation in progress for potential use as biological weapon.


_**Author's Note: **__I seriously hope my Latin's accurate..._

_So... uhh... this was SUPPOSED to be for Angst Day... But I guess it's too late to even say 'happy belated'; eheh... This is something new I've had in mind for the last several months, now. I've never taken the 'GiW' seriously in the canon DP universe, since they're a joke of an organization full of incompetent, idiotic, trigger-happy 'tards in a kid's cartoon. So, I wanted to try something where you've got a government ghost agency that actually _is _competent, dangerously smart... the works. This might make the whole 'GiW' thing seem a little alternate universe-ish. Just a tad._

_Which reminds me - and I want to do this now, so I don't have to for every single following chapter - Although rated 'T,' I want to slap a big, fat __**WARNING **__on here for the hopefully-not-excessive use of swearing in this story. This particular prologue does contain a couple of F-bombs. I'm not going to change it - I feel it makes the dialogue a little more realistic. Just wanted to give a heads-up._

_Anyway, er... enjoy? This is rediculously long for a prologue, I'm sorry. The first chapter for this probably won't be up for awhile - my beta's riding my butt to get the next chapter of Lost done and I need to actually _do _it. XD Freaking procrastination..._

_**Obligatory Disclaimer: **__HAHAno._

* * *

**Project: Album Phasma**

_by: AnneriaWings_

* * *

_**FACILITY 141 **__('THE COMPOUND'): Leading government-funded source of paranormal research, genetic technology, and weaponry development._

_**PRIORITY:**__ PROJECT: ALBUM PHASMA ('White Ghost'); permanent incarceration and research (invasive; observation; trial-and-error) of adolescent ghost-human hybrid Daniel James Fenton; investigation in progress for potential use as biological weapon._

_**LOCATION:**__ CLASSIFIED_

* * *

**Prologue: Longing**

He stumbled down the stairs, gasping for breath, his vision blurred from oncoming tears. Wary eyes darted around the living room with a hasty perusal – checking the doors, windows, ventilation shafts – and an almost animalistic paranoia in his mind screamed for him to _move_. Heart pounding wildly, every sense heightened, a sickening sense of dread overcame every fraction of his mind. Truthfully, he was _scared_. Absolutely _terrified_ was more like it – although he'd never admit it. Heroes weren't supposed to be afraid for their own lives.

But any reasoning behind that was gone, replaced by nothing short of cold fear due to the urgent tip-off he'd received on his phone mere seconds before, courtesy of Tuck. As much as it killed him, though, he couldn't run – not just yet. There was something to be taken care of.

"Mom…?" He called out to the empty house, wincing at the unsteady rasp to his voice. He waited, alertly listening for her response, though his panicked, racing thoughts might have been translated into something like, _They're coming jesus no they're coming oh god I have to get away oh god_… Each passing second was even more unnerving than the last, the silence met only by the fast staccato of his heart thudding loudly in his ears.

"Mom?" He called again, an almost desperate edge to his voice. He was running out of time. Minutes – perhaps seconds, and they'd be here. "Mom!" _God,_ please_, someone answer._

"Down here, sweetie," a faint voice absentmindedly yelled. He nearly flew out of his skin at the unexpected reply.

Actually sprinting into the kitchen, his trembling hands lunged to yank the basement door open. He bolted down the stairs in record time, leaping the last couple of steps onto the tiled linoleum floor of the lab, adrenaline and fear coursing through every channel within his body.

And there she was – on the other side of the room, bent over a table, oblivious to his presence, oblivious to the way his entire life was suddenly falling apart.

"Mom," he whispered, then suddenly raced over and threw himself into her arms.

"Whoa, kiddo," Maddie said, twisting around from whatever invention she'd been working on to look at him quizzically – although the sudden affection did cause a smile to play across her face. She dropped her small screwdriver onto the table and ruffled his hair. "What's up?"

He didn't respond, at first – he couldn't get the words he so badly wanted to say to congeal into something understandable, in addition to the fact that his mind was too busy twisting with fear and anger and longing and… and… This was probably the last time he'd ever see her, let alone the rest of his family – although there wasn't enough time to find his sister and father, who were God-knows-where out in town. He hugged her even tighter, taking in the reassuring comfort and security he'd known all his life, wishing so desperately he could preserve this moment forever. _Will I ever feel this again?_

The woman's brows furrowed in confusion. "…Danny?" She asked, awkwardly rubbing a hand across his back. "Is… there something wrong?"

Her voice snapped clean through his private, despondent goodbye, and he was jerked back into reality. There just _wasn't_ any time. He probably had seconds left. "Mom, I—" he finally rasped, not taking his hold off her, but looked up at her with wide eyes, the anguish written clear all over his face. "I have to… I have to go…"

_Now_ she was concerned. She pulled away from her child's embrace to gaze at him with worried eyes, taking in his blatantly-distraught state. "Go where? What's wrong? Are you okay?" _Oh, if only you _knew.

"…No." He said softly, _hating_ how entirely pathetic he sounded, and scowling derisively at the irony. He was far from okay. "Listen, I just… there's something I need to do, and there isn't much time—"

He was cut off in mid-sentence by a loud doorbell that rang through the house, and froze. Stopped breathing. Stopped thinking.

His mother glanced at the stairs, frowning. "Hang on," she said, giving her son a hesitant smile, evidently torn between giving him her full attention and answering the door. "Your father probably locked himself out of the house again. I'll be right back."

Suddenly the world restarted again. He visibly tensed, eyes widening as a wave of fresh, icy panic blew through him. No. They were _here._

"Mom, no—_wait!_" He nearly screamed, but his mother was already on her way up the stairs. Licking his lips, he tried to slow his reeling mind down enough to decide whether to stop her or not (_it won't make any difference; they're HERE and they're going to GET you either way_). Fists clenched shut, his knuckles bled white with an effort to remain calm. Finally, everything became too much to handle at once – what little steady resolve he'd possessed suddenly shattered. With a strangled half-growl, half-whimper, he raced after her.

"No, mom, _stop_." He begged as he barged through the kitchen, grabbing her arm. "D-don't answer the door."

Maddie opened her mouth to respond – then there was a loud pounding on the front door.

"Fenton residence? Federal agents; open up, please."

_Shitshitshit, no, _no_._ "Mom, _please_—"

"Federal… Daniel… what's going on?" She said slowly, warily, drifting to the front door.

He caught up to her before she could touch the doorknob. Throwing his arms around her in another embrace (_the last time I'll see her or the others?_), he shook his head, trying to ignore the insistent knocking. "Look, I can't stay here," he said hurriedly. "But… whatever happens, I'm innocent – I didn't _do anything_."

The knocking and voices were growing very impatient, very fast. "Daniel Fenton, we have a warrant for your arrest. Open up!"

(_goddamnit just get out of there they're gonna get you if you don't go NOW_)

"What – Danny, what the hell are you talking about?" His mother demanded, glancing at the door. "What…"

"Mom, I love you," he whispered, taking a cautious step back. "T-tell Dad and Jazz I love them too. I can't stay or—"

"If this door isn't opened within the next five seconds…"

_Five seconds! _"Mom, I'll come back; I'll contact you or something, I promise—"

Even as the door barged open, splinters of wood flying to the side, and even as several armed authorities stormed into the foyer, he took the time to glance at his mother with an angry, determined resolve. _Go go go NOW, _his mind shrieked, yet almost in slow motion, he nodded faintly to her. This was going to end.

"_Hands in the air!"_

His ghostly side slammed into existence in a flash of cold light, ignoring the startled gasp in front of him, ignoring the subsequent haphazard, poorly-aimed blasts. Then he was gone, having vanished into thin air.

* * *

Danny allowed a grim smile to drift onto his face at the vivid memory, his eyes closed, his mind lost in a wash of solitude and silence. That had been the last time he'd spoken to his mother in person. It was nice to just lay there with that picture of her in his head. It was something… familiar.

Surprisingly, that terrifying moment – the first of many narrow escapes before they'd finally cornered him for good – was one of the few he'd retained so well since coming here. The others were vague, hazy blurs, just little fragments that popped into his head whenever they felt like it. It was strange, and frankly a little annoying.

He leaned his head back against the stiff pillow of his cot and finally opened eyes. "_Bright!"_ was the first thing his subconscious registered – even after weeks of the same routine, he never really got used to how _white _his room was, how it was too clean. It contained thick, perfectly flat pallid walls, a door (with no knob or handle on the inside), and hard tiled floor of the same color. There weren't any windows – which meant no way to tell the time of day. Obviously, time had little meaning to him here. A single strip of bright, fluorescent light ran the length of the ceiling, something so seemingly insignificant that always managed to deprive him of proper rest.

The room was surprisingly larger than Danny would have expected – but still more of a cell than anything else; his mind had long since accepted that. A single, long, one-way mirror sat on one end of the wall, and two security cameras hung high in opposite corners of the cell. There was a small toilet and sink off in one corner, but no stall – not even a curtain. _Privacy_, he'd scoff every now and then,_ what privacy?_ Even within the relative comfort of his cell, _they_ were still watching him…

And the silence…

The silence, in his opinion, was nothing short of relentless, unremitting _torture._ It rang within his ears, sometimes drowning out all other thoughts and wonderings completely. There was never any sound that penetrated his prison – everything was entirely, eerily silent.

There were, however, ways endure it. There was loneliness, yes, along with so much wistful longing for his family and friends that it used to physically ache at his heart and rob him of sleep – but he was always free to retreat into his own self. He'd used to spend his time brooding, grasping to a rare shred of hope from the fact that they still couldn't read his mind. Countless plans of escape had been concocted, turned over and over in his mind, and then meticulously broken down into something step-by-step and _logical_…

That was back when freedom had been a fantasy, a notion worthy of true optimism. Now he was content to sit in a corner, pace around the room, or sleep. There was really no way to break the endless monotony. In a way, it was kind of comforting. Even if they _were _constantly watching his every move like a hawk, he could still do almost whatever he wanted – minus escaping, of course – whenever he wanted. In this measly cell, he wasn't poked or prodded at, interrogated or tortured, pushed to his very limits—

Danny shifted a little on the small bed, and the pensive wanderings of his mind were suddenly snuffed out by pain. His entire body _ached_; the experiments done in Lab 1E done last night – _or was it a few days ago? Damn the lack of windows _– had seen to that. Cuts and gashes – methodical, precise, and designed to inflict the maximum amount of suffering – littered his back underneath a heavy wrapping of gauze. Just lifting his arms to curl tightly underneath his blanket was painful, and he grimaced at the movement. God, it hurt just to _exist._

Of course, that was to be expected. In the Compound, pain was something you experienced every day… but something you still couldn't really get used to.

The monotony wasn't limited to just his cell; it enveloped the entire facility. He'd wait in his room until _they _came for him, then sit through hours of testing and exercises and questioning almost numbly, often trying to fall back into the deepest retreats of his mind. He'd throw up thick barriers around himself until he was no longer quite _there_ – though the pain was always fresh. It always seemed to slam back into him, always pushing his sanity to its limits.

The endurance tests were the worst. Physically, the pain really wasn't all that bad – his body could always escape into unconsciousness. On a good day, he'd usually pass out before he started begging and sobbing for the suffering to end like a pathetic mess. The psychological ones, on the other hand, were another story. It was surprisingly easy for them to discover the deepest, inner workings of his psyche – what made him vulnerable, afraid, fragile.

It was pathetic, and sickeningly ironic, Danny thought. They knew more about him than he did himself.

But what could he do? Day by day, he was stripped of _everything_ – his strength, his sanity, his dignity… everything except those memories. They came and went as they pleased; nightmares haunted his dreams, torturing the very fiber of his sanity, never failing to leave him paranoid, hopeless, and broken. And then there were images just like the ones of his mother, something _familiar_ and _right_. Something he could hold onto…

The door suddenly opened. It was a sharp startle, the silent tedium torn instantly from his mind. The shrieking of metal hinges of the door swung back against the wall and the tapping of footsteps pressed on every cell within his body. _He_ was back.

Two armed guards stood like sentinels on either side of the open door, watching him with quiet, wary eyes. _Always ready._ A single man clad in an ominous, snow-white lab uniform stepped past them, wearing a smile that was too Cheshire Cat-like for comfort. "You ready?"

_And so another day begins._

(_No no no I'm not ready… Please, please, just go _away…) The question was simple, but Danny knew what the man meant. Yet he remained silent, his back pressing against the wall by his cot and wishing so desperately that he could just curl into an invisible ball and disappear. He stared wordlessly down at the tiled floor with clouded blue eyes, his body engulfed in numbness.

The man sighed, his hand drifting down into his pocket. "You know how this works, Danny. Let's not make this unpleasant for the both of us, hmm?"

He couldn't help but wince – not at the threat, but at the use of his nickname; there was just something about the familiar title that made the whole situation that much more uncomfortable. So long ago, such a long pause wouldn't have existed. They'd simply storm into his room and drag him – literally – kicking and screaming to his torture. Even today, just the sight of the young assistant brought back fresh waves of fear regardless of the barriers he'd thrown up around his mind.

Eventually Danny sighed, glancing down at the two small bands on his wrists suppressing the ectoplasm within his body, the sleek, black technology reminding him just how defenseless he truly was.

He hesitated before sliding off the cot and wordlessly easing toward the door, disgusted with himself. _A typical day._

"Excellent!" The man praised, still grinning cheerfully and clasping a friendly hand onto the teen's shoulder, ignoring the subsequent stiffening. "You've learned."

Danny instantly shrugged off the contact and made sure to send the bastard his most scathing glare – minus the glowing – before being escorted into the sterile hallway with an apathetic lack of protest.

"I know you're a _little _sore from last night, Danny, so we're all getting a bit of a break today – lucky you," the man said conversationally while they walked down the labyrinth of white, his tone as casual as if the weather were being discussed. The guards trailed quietly behind. "Nothing invasive like last night; nothing too tedious. Anne and ol' Kess just need to run a few more blood tests – got some wonky results from Thursday's…"

But Danny had long-since tuned him out.

* * *

"_OWW! Shit!"_

The loud outburst was unusual, and certainly unexpected. Startled, the woman glanced up from her clipboard, raising a brow at the stream of angry swears coming from her companion. "What's wrong?"

"Fucking wretch bit me," the young scientist muttered, sticking his bleeding fingers into his mouth and then wiping them on his coat. He scowled darkly at the struggling teenager up against the wall, having been pinned down by two immensely strong guards. The desire to hit him was very tempting.

"Serves you right," the boy snapped, blue eyes utterly livid at the two. Although, he seemed to debate something for a long moment before ceasing his fruitless movements with a frustrated sigh. "You'd said this would be quick."

The woman approached him, something akin to true concern shining in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Danny, really," she said, smiling a little, then glanced at her companion, who was busy rummaging around on one of the counters for a Band-Aid. "We're almost done, okay? Doctor Stone just had some difficulty in finding the last vein."

The boy glared again, but it was a wavering one, the brave mask at the forefront crumbling into something fragile and vulnerable. "No," he muttered, letting his head hang against the painfully tense hold of the two armed guards, a small bead of blood trickling down the inside of his elbow.

Her brows furrowed, as if she hadn't heard him. "What do you mean?" she asked.

He looked up at her, shaking his head wordlessly. "No. Just… no. I can't keep… I'm _done_…"

The woman _laughed,_ she honestly _laughed,_ as if his shattering mind was a humorous joke. "Come on, Danny, really. You've done this dozens of times." She walked forward, waving the two guards out of the way. "_We've_ done this dozens of times. Just a little prick, really."

He shook his head several times, swallowing hard as weeks upon _months_ of this miserable hell began to descend heavily on his mind, weighing it down with enough force to completely snap his sanity. "No," he said again, finally glowering darkly up at the woman. He was rigid with tension and his arms, she noted, began to visibly tremble. "I'm… I'm _done_. I'm _not letting_ you dig that stupid needle around in my arm anymore. I'm sick of all of this!" He gestured wildly around the room. "I'm not some sort of lab specimen for you idiots to gawk at all day."

She smiled again, but it was a forced one to hide her growing impatience. "Look, Danny—"

"Shut up," he snarled, trying to back further into the wall away from the two scientists. "Don't call me that."

The pure and sudden asperity in his voice was different, and kind of strange. He was trying to cover up his fear with bravado. Usually he'd either cooperate or go down screaming – in the end, it didn't make any difference. The woman wrinkled her nose a little and opened her mouth to say something, but Kessler Stone was quick to beat her to it.

"Look, kid, our superiors brought you here for a _reason_, as you're well aware of. Whether you like it or not, you're more than just some specimen… you're a myriad of entire _projects_. You will do what we want, when we want it, and you will do so without question and without _wasting our time_." Narrowing his eyes, the man's last words had ground his teeth shut, his usual professional, cool demeanor losing grounds to rapidly-increasing impatience. "Now, brat, you either get back _onto that table_, or we're tying you down."

His assistant scowled. "Doctor, he _can _be coaxed—"

"We're on a _schedule_, Anne. You know that. Your report goes straight to the Director by tomorrow morning, and if she's not satisfied with the rate of our progress with the boy, it's _my_ head on the line."

This time, it was Anne's turn to regard him. "I'm quite aware of that," she muttered coolly, then turned to gaze at the boy, who watched all four adults in the lab with angered, terrified eyes. "Danny, I don't want to have to use the restraints again," she wheedled slowly, her voice syrupy and maternal-like, "and I know you want to go back to your room as soon as possible, so why don't we just—"

"Fuck you."

_That_ certainly elicited a response. Kessler Stone snarled with impatience and fury, shoving his hand into his pocket and whipping out what looked like a tiny remote controller. He hardly hesitated in pressing the button.

His entire body going rigid as though it was about to seize, the boy suddenly gave a strangled cry, an invisible force ripping at him from the inside out. Anne couldn't help but grimace as his legs gave out, crumpling to the floor in a fit of thrashing convulsions. She stared down at her shoes for several long seconds, not really knowing what to think.

The electrodes had been implanted for a reason. It was just another punishment.

But Stone just stood there, his face set into a mask of cold indifference as the boy's agonized screams filled the small lab. Even the guards looked away, uncomfortably shifting from foot to foot as the seconds were dragged out.

Finally, it became too much for the woman to handle. The shocks were supposed to be brief; two, perhaps three seconds at a time. Danny had been writhing from the onslaught of electricity for much longer. "Doctor," she said, having to raise her voice over the screams. "Doctor – stop, you're hurting him."

"Sometimes sacrifices have to be made, Anne; you know that."

"By _torturing_ the child?!"

Dr. Stone languidly seemed to mull over it, then finally – _finally_, she thought – released the button. The screaming died. "Get back on the table," he ordered, fluidly not missing a beat. _"Now."_

But the boy rolled over on the floor with a weak moan as lingering twitches still skittered through his frame, attempting to curl into himself in a helpless ball, panting as cold sweat trickled down his forehead. Mustering all of the strength he could gather into lifting himself up, he stared up at them defiantly.

"_Make_ me."

Stone's eyes narrowed. The boy tensed, eyeing the thing in his hands with surety that the man had every intention of subduing him again—

_No._ Not today.

Danny lunged with a yell, roughly tackling both scientists and subsequently knocking them into a metal trolley. The deafening crash and shatter of glass triggered the room to collapse into complete and utter chaos.

Adrenaline blasted through his veins like wildfire, temporarily snuffing out any fatigue from the electrocution – and then he _felt_ the guards behind him before instinctively whirling around with a roundhouse kick to the groin, hearing a following grunt as the first man collapsed. Dropping to the floor, he narrowly avoided the second, lashing out at the stumbling guard and using his foot as leverage – and _yes, the door._

He knocked past Anne – who'd started to get up – and lunged for the door. He slammed against it with a loud _thud_, yanked it open, and blindly tore into the sterile corridor just as earsplitting alarms began to scream through the air. Flashes of red were thrown everywhere, voices shouted from behind, and a sense of desperation and panic slid over all thoughts inside his mind.

Every fiber of his very being longed for that which he'd been deprived of for so long. Damn the electrodes. Damn the bracelets. Damn the Compound. Just a few precious minutes, quick thinking, and a stroke or two of luck, and he'd be _free. _"I'm so out of here!"

Danny hadn't even made it to the end of the hall.


End file.
